“Aunt Josie? Hello?”
I went to the pantry and got a Chocolate Ka-Blam. Then I went to the fridge and took out the milk and sat down at the table. I unwrapped the Ka-Blam, took a bite, and washed it down with a swig of milk from the jug. They tasted best that way. It was a scientific fact.
When I was done licking the last of the crumbs out of the wrapper and had taken a final gulp of milk, I put the cap back on the jug and put it back in the fridge. I saw the note when the door shut. It was stuck there with a magnet that looked like a baloney sandwich.
Derek—
Aunt Josie’s car is finally fixed. I took her to pick it up. Be back soon. If you’re going to have milk pls use a glass ok? And remember—no TV.
Love you—
Mom
I looked into the living room and could see part of the television. I looked out the kitchen window and could see part of the driveway. I wondered how soon “be back soon” was. I took a couple of steps toward the living room, stopped, and looked back. The driveway was still empty. I took a few more steps. Pretty soon I couldn’t see the kitchen window anymore. Pretty soon after that I was sitting on the couch.
I stared at the television. I rubbed my hands on my pants and swallowed. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode out of my chest. I squinted my ears and listened for Mom’s car in the driveway or the banging of the storm door but didn’t hear either of them.
I picked up the remote and pointed it at the television. Was I really going to do this? My thumb hovered over the red power button for a second or two like I was giving someone or something a last chance to stop me. I listened for Mom’s car again and didn’t hear it. I closed my eyes and slowly pressed the button.
Mom must have been watching the news before because when I opened my eyes I wasn’t looking at Zeroman or A Dog Named Cat or even Jenny Rainbow and the Starlight Pony Squad. Instead I was looking at two people behind a desk and a lot of numbers and little symbols moving across the bottom of the screen. The volume was also turned way down. I flipped to a cartoon channel but Mom had blocked it. I flipped to another cartoon channel but she’d blocked that one also. I tried all the channels I could think of that might be showing something I’d want to watch but I was locked out of all of them. She’d even blocked the Adventure Kids channel and that one was educational.
I slumped back into the couch and sat there staring at the screen. Fine. I might not have been able to watch TV but if Mom thought that would get me to do homework instead, she was crazy. I switched back over to the news channel. The last thing I needed was for her to turn on the TV and have it be on one of the channels she’d blocked. I’d learned that one the hard way.
I wasn’t sure it was the same channel Mom had been watching because all those news people look the same to me. The same numbers and little symbols moved across the bottom of the screen. The only thing different from before was that there was a picture of a soldier in the corner.
He was wearing desert camo and looking at the camera with a serious expression on his face. I bet he had a code name. I bet it was Sandstorm or something cool and desert related like that. The soldier looked kinda familiar, too, but I couldn’t place him.
Then I pictured him without his helmet on and instead of jeeps in the background I imagined our backyard and the way it looked when he held me by the wrists and swung me around until my feet came off the ground and I couldn’t hear anything but the roar of the wind and the sound of my own laughter.
“Mom! Mom! Come quick,” I shouted, jumping up and banging both knees on the table. The remote fell from my hand and struck the table in such a way that the batteries came flying out. “Dad’s on TV! I think he won the war!”
I was so excited to see my father I’d forgotten I was the only one in the house but I didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. I didn’t have time to put the batteries back in the remote either so I scrambled over the table and launched myself at the television, flipping open the control panel and searching like crazy for the volume button.
The news people were talking about my dad and I was missing it. I tried to read their lips while I stabbed blindly for the volume button with my finger. I was pretty sure they’d just said my dad had not only won the war all by himself but he had also saved the president and they couldn’t say it on TV if it wasn’t true.
I could feel my smile bumping up against the boundaries of my face, pushing against them, threatening to break through. Maybe Dad could come home now. Maybe it could be for good this time. I found the volume button, pressed it, and held it down. It was easier to read lips with the sound turned up. They weren’t talking about the president after all.
* * *
When my mom came home I was still sitting there. A minute could have passed. Or a day. Or a week. At some point she must have pulled into the driveway but I hadn’t heard it. The storm door must have banged when she’d come inside but I hadn’t heard that either. I almost hadn’t heard her put the groceries down or call my name—once in anger when she saw I was watching TV and another time in sadness when she saw what I was watching. She came to me quickly and scooped me into her lap, putting herself between me and the television.
“Oh no,” she said. “Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”
And she kept saying it, too, until the words just came together and weren’t really words anymore. I don’t think she even stopped to breathe. My face was pressed into her neck and when I lifted up my head I was looking at the world through the auburn curtain of her hair. On TV a girl in a raincoat with an umbrella and a microphone was standing in front of our house looking wet and serious.
“Mom?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Our house is on TV.”
“I know.”
“Why is our house on TV?”
“Because they’re vultures!” spat Aunt Josie, storming into the room and stabbing the television off with her finger. The telephone rang and Aunt Josie stomped off to get it. I overheard her say a few words I probably shouldn’t have. Mom was sobbing now and it was hard to tell who was holding who anymore.
I could see myself reflected in the blank TV screen—my small, white face peeking over my mom’s shoulder and my hands clasped around her neck. Even in the reflection you could tell she was shaking.
Words floated in my head—words the news people had said—words I knew the meaning of but wished I didn’t. Words like “missing” and “body.” There were others, too, like “rocket.”
And “dead.”
I let go of Mom and stood up and found the batteries and put them back in the remote. Then I sat on the couch, pointed it at the television, and pressed the power button. The news came back on. My dad’s picture was back in the corner. The news people were talking about him.
“Derek, don’t,” Mom said. Her voice was tiny and weak and for some reason I thought of baby birds, alone and blind and helpless. “I don’t want you to hear—”
“I want to watch cartoons.”
Mom was still kneeling on the floor in front of the television. Her shoulders were slumped and her head was down.
“Derek, I—”
“Cartoons.”
She straightened up a little and turned, pulling her hair out of her face with her fingers and putting it behind her ears. Her cheeks were wet and her bottom lip was bleeding. She must have bitten it. Some hair fell back in her face but this time she didn’t move it.
“I meant to—I didn’t know how—”
“Cartoons!” I exploded, screaming so loud I hurt my neck. “Cartoons, cartoons, cartoons!”
Mom jumped and in the kitchen Josie dropped something. It broke. I could tell by the sound. Mom took the remote from me and entered the code to unlock the kid channels. I sat on the couch with my arms folded and my chin all down into my chest like I was a turtle hiding in its shell.
The Adventure Kids channel was on and some kid in one of those safari helmets was letting a big tarantula walk up his arm. It was orange and
black and moved slowly, its two front legs feeling the air. The kid was saying how its legs were covered in these tiny hairs and how they itched and tickled him at the same time.
Mom still knelt in front of the television and the way she was kneeling made me think of a marionette with the strings cut. If you put a lamp on her head she’d be a table. I laughed at that. I couldn’t help it. On TV the tarantula was now on the kid’s face. I laughed at that, too. I probably would have kept on laughing forever if I hadn’t suddenly thrown up all over the table.
12
WE DIDN’T EAT DINNER that night. Nobody thought to make it and I didn’t think any of us were hungry anyway. Mom went from kneeling in the living room to sitting in the kitchen. The phone rang a lot and after a while Aunt Josie stopped answering it. I think she may have gotten tired of me asking her who it was.
“It’s people who heard about your dad calling to say how sorry they are,” she said.
“Why are they sorry?” I asked. “They didn’t do it.”
“It’s called sympathy, Derek,” she said. “They feel bad for us because we lost your dad.”
“But we didn’t lose Dad,” I said.
“Oh, Derek.” Aunt Josie blinked a few times fast. If she was trying to hold back tears it didn’t work. “You do know he’s… gone. You understand what that means, right?”
“Yeah, but he’s not lost.”
“Derek, sweetheart, yes he is.”
“No, he’s not. He was lost,” I said. “But then they found him. He was in a cave.”
“That’s different.”
“No it’s not. Lost is when you don’t know where something is. We know where Dad is. So he’s not lost.”
Aunt Josie sat back in her chair and wiped the tears from her eyes with her fingers. Mom cleared her throat and spoke. Her voice was soft but even.
“Isn’t your show on now, Piggy?”
“What show?”
“With the special episode? Zeroguy?”
“You mean Zeroman?”
“That’s it.”
“Aren’t I still punished?”
“You’ve been punished enough.”
Her face was pale in the kitchen light. Except for her eyes, which were red with dark circles underneath. She started to smile but stopped. Maybe she realized it was stupid to smile and pretend everything was okay when we both knew it wasn’t.
“Why don’t you go to the living room and watch your show, okay?”
“Can I just go to my room instead?”
“Of course you can but I thought—I mean, you’ve waited so long to watch your show.”
“I know. It’ll be on again though.”
I didn’t want to look at my mom so I looked at my hands instead. They were sort of dirty. My pen had leaked at school today and there was a big blue ink smudge on my finger, and out of my ten fingernails, six needed cutting.
“Don’t bite your nails,” Mom said, “you’ll get worms in your belly.”
I put my hand back in my lap, not liking the way Mom was looking at me. It seemed like she was studying me, trying to guess what I might do or say next. I was used to people at school looking at me like that but I didn’t expect it from her. I always thought she knew me better.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“Can I go to my room, please? I really just want to go to my room right now.”
“Would you like me to come with you?”
I heard her but didn’t answer. Instead, I stood up and left the kitchen and when I heard her say she loved me I didn’t respond to that either. The phone rang again as I climbed the stairs to my room and the last thing I heard before closing my door was Mom’s tortured cry and the sound of the phone being torn from the wall.
Dear Derek—
How’s my guy?
I’m writing this in my bed in the field hospital. Don’t worry though I’m fine. Your daddy just did kind of a dumb thing. I woke up the other day with a bellyache and I didn’t tell anybody right away and it got worse and worse until I couldn’t even walk. The doctor said I had a bad infection in my belly called peritonitis and they had to do an operation to fix it.
Now I have to wait until I’m better before I can fly again and guess what—it’s called being “grounded.” Funny, huh? I didn’t think grown ups could get grounded, did you? Anyway I hope getting better doesn’t take long. The longer I’m here the more missions I’ll be passed over for and I don’t like not doing my part.
I hope school is going well and that we’ll see each other soon!
Much love,
Dad
The Knight Rider lunch box was on the floor—on its side and empty. I’d taken all of the envelopes out of it and all of the letters out of the envelopes and my bed was now a sea of paper. I was adrift in the middle of it, clinging to the last one hundred and fifty-five words my father had written me—hanging on to the letter as if it were a life raft. He’d used six hundred and thirty-three letters and had written seven paragraphs including the salutation and whatever the part where you put “sincerely” was called.
When I finished reading the letter I read it again. Apart from comic books, the letters from my dad were the only things I read more than once. I usually read them two or three times each time I sat down with them. I had even memorized whole parts of them completely by accident.
I lay back on my bed and closed my eyes, the letters crinkling loudly underneath me. Then I rolled over and faced the wall because I didn’t want to see the helicopter model when I opened them. I saw it anyway. In my head. Only it wasn’t the model, it was the real thing and it was getting hit with a rocket over and over again and spinning to the ground and crashing.
I didn’t want to think about my dad but I couldn’t help it. In my head he is struggling with his safety harness. His hands are shaking. I imagine the strong smell of gasoline from a busted fuel line. He calls out to the gunner but the gunner doesn’t answer because the gunner is dead. Black smoke starts to fill the cockpit. It is thick and oily and it smells bad because the gunner’s body is starting to burn.
I shook my head and shut my eyes and tried to think about something else. I tried to put all fifty states in alphabetical order but I’d only gotten as far as Delaware before I was imagining my dad dragging himself across some sharp rocks to get away from a burning helicopter. His legs are bent funny. His hands are covered in dirt and blood.
Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho…
The sun is going down and the sky is red. Dad is pulling himself toward a split in the rocks. I imagine his flight suit has been torn away at the elbows and the flesh underneath is like raw hamburger.
…Illinois, Indiana, Iowa…
The cave is small. Light from the last bit of sunset has found its way inside but it will be gone soon. My dad has drawn his sidearm and is sitting with his back against the cold rocks facing the entrance. His face is covered in sweat. He is sitting in a puddle of blood. The puddle is spreading quickly.
…Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana…
His sidearm becomes heavy and he puts it down. After a while he closes his eyes.
…Maine…
A little while after that he stops bleeding.
13
I DIDN’T REMEMBER falling asleep but I must have because the next thing I knew it was morning. I tried to roll over but I couldn’t. Somebody was in bed with me and their arm was around my waist, pinning me down.
I tried to wiggle out and heard a crinkling, crackling sound and that was when I remembered there were letters all over the bed. That was also when I remembered about my dad.
I stopped wiggling then. I just lay there on my side facing the wall. The arm around my waist felt heavy. I had a feeling it was Mom’s because on cold mornings when I was little I’d get into bed with Mom and Dad and she’d hold me like this under the covers and I’d feel warm and safe. I didn’t feel very safe this time though. I felt whatever the exact opposite was.
&nbs
p; I breathed. I blinked. I stared at the wall. After a while I smelled coffee. Mom woke up and moved her arm leaving a cold spot on my side. She shifted. The letters crackled. I didn’t move.
“Derek?”
I didn’t want to talk. I pretended to sleep.
“I know you’re not asleep.”
“How’d you know?”
“I didn’t but now I do.”
“You tricked me?”
“A little.”
“You shouldn’t be tricking me at all,” I said. “I’m just a kid.”
“I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
I wished I wasn’t against the wall because I wanted to get up and leave. I couldn’t though, because Mom’s arm was across me again and I just knew she wasn’t about to let me move it. She meant to have a Talk. And when Mom meant to have a Talk there wasn’t much you could do about it even if you weren’t pinned to the bed.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
We lay there for a little while and didn’t say anything. I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep again.
“Derek?”
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
I scratched my arm and thought for a second. What did I mean?
“I dunno,” I said finally. “I feel kinda… empty. Is it okay to feel empty?”
“Any way you feel is how you feel and that’s okay. Especially now,” Mom said. “And when those feelings change, the new ones will be okay, too. People will understand if you’re sad or if you’re angry—”
“But I’m not sad or angry. I told you, I’m not feeling anything. Just empty. And my head hurts. That’s how I’m feeling.”
She moved her arm from around my waist and started stroking my hair with her hand. I pictured her with a worried look on her face, her lips pressed together so you couldn’t see them.
The Saturday Boy Page 9